


The Paths We Walk in the Dark

by wildimaginingsofhalfbakedideas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fox Stiles Stilinski, Full Shift Werewolves, Human Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Hurt/Comfort, Laura Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Laura Hale Lives, M/M, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Sad Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Swearing, Violence, Warning: Kate Argent, Werefox Stiles Stilinski, for plot like reasons, mostly nameless hunters, sheriff stilinski does not have his shit together, swearwolves for life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:06:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26592616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildimaginingsofhalfbakedideas/pseuds/wildimaginingsofhalfbakedideas
Summary: Stiles just wanted to stick to his routine. He had a system. It was working.Then he accidentally intervened in a fight between two Alphas and now he can't seem to get rid of these two wolves that basically want to adopt him. What is his life?Or, the one where werefox!Stiles saves Laura's life and in return she and her brother decide they're going to make themselves a pack in Beacon Hills.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Laura Hale & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 56
Kudos: 657





	1. The Fox and the Big Bad Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> So, some notes:  
> 1) I think that if Derek hadn't lost Laura, he would still be fucked up, but you know, less so. As in he would have moderate interpersonal skills and would be a lot softer around her and anyone he lets into his inner circle. Only scary murder eyebrows for outsiders and those who deserve it.  
> 2) My favorite thing in the world is to hurt my favorite characters, because I'm a sadist. Which is why I changed Stiles' dynamic with his parents, particularly with the Sheriff. I think that if Stiles' mom really had died that way and not from a disease where no blame could be placed on anyone, the Sheriff would have spiraled a lot harder for a lot longer.  
> 3) The first few chapters contain very few other characters, but never fear! They are coming.
> 
> This is unbeta'd so any spelling/grammar mistakes, please feel free to point out to me! :)

Stiles flinched when he heard the door slam downstairs, looking up from his homework to stare at the door and listen to the sounds of his father removing his belt and putting his gun away in the safe before immediately opening the liquor cabinet. He hadn’t even bothered grabbing food first, which meant it was an even worse day than usual.

Stiles wanted to be angry at his father for the now familiar sound of whiskey pouring into a glass, for his inability to remain sober for even five minutes in the house where Stiles’ mother died six years ago, but he couldn’t. Instead he just waited, doing his best to finish his homework until he heard his dad drop the empty glass in the sink and trudge up the stairs to his room to collapse in a drunken slumber.

It had been a long time since he stopped at Stiles’ room to check on him. Now his footsteps just kept going, heavy and lumbering until his bedroom door clicked shut and Stiles released the breath he always unconsciously held during the nightly ritual. There was always the thought, the foolish hope, that maybe tonight would be the night that his father would knock on his door and realize that Stiles was hurting too, that he needed his dad more than his father needed the drink, but it never happened. Stiles looked too much like his mother, his eyes the exact same shade of amber, his nose upturned in the exact same way: the qualities of a fox. Reminders of what his dad had lost. Reminders of everything his dad was not.

Stiles closed his Spanish book with a sigh and stood. Another part of the nightly ritual: sneaking out so that he could be anywhere but here. He pulled on his shoes and a hoodie and climbed silently out the window, making sure to grab his phone and keys, and dropped easily to the ground. He hadn’t quite grown into his limbs yet, like a puppy with paws that were too big for its body, but the move was so practiced that he was able to accomplish it with minimal flailing and sound. 

He took off toward the Preserve, switching his vision over to his fox eyes to allow him to see in the dark. The moon was nearly full, which made everything stand out in sharp contrasts and he had no trouble as he ran toward his usual nocturnal hiding place.

The burnt-out shell of the old Hale mansion stood like something out of Scooby-Doo in the dark, but it was an old comfort to him, a small piece of his mother’s history in this town and a refuge from the guilt he felt every time he crossed paths with his father and he was reminded of how he had survived and she hadn’t. He stepped inside and found his favorite corner, swept of dust and well sheltered from weather, and stripped of his clothes. He closed his eyes and let his body shift, feeling the weight of being human become muted, his emotions less tangled, his senses sharper. He flexed his paws against the charred wood and stretched his back. He was larger than a normal fox, about the size of a labrador retriever, with pale fur that only had hints of red and grey. Relieved by his newly furry state, he curled up in his spot and settled down to sleep.

Not ten minutes later, before he’d even really got a chance to fall asleep, a loud noise startled him to fearful wakefulness. It was a risk being out in the open, fully shifted, he knew that. Werefoxes were rare and hunters were even less likely to follow the code if they knew he existed. Terror flooded his veins as he swiveled his ears, trying to discern what had woken him. Maybe it was just a wild animal. Deer were common in these woods, he was pretty sure, so they could have been passing through and their hooves had just been loud enough to cause a commotion.

Yes, and de Nile was just a river in Egypt. He breathed shallowly, trying to avoid a panic attack. Another crash seemed to come from just outside the house and he jumped to his feet. He didn’t know what to do. If he stayed where he was, he would be trapped if whatever it was came inside, but they also might not know he was here. If he tried to flee, it would almost certainly draw attention and he would announce himself as prey.

Then he heard a pained whine. It was high pitched, canine, clearly from a female wolf, but it reminded him so much of his mother from that terrible night that he had spent every day since trying to forget, that he couldn’t think. He didn’t think. Before he knew it he was outside, flying as fast as his four paws could take him straight at the bulking, dark shape that was poised over the prone wolf. He could see her on the ground, bleeding heavily but still alive. He launched himself at the attacker, his jaws snapping powerfully over the werewolf’s arm, sinking twin rows of pointed, razor sharp teeth into the flesh. The only reason he caught the wolf’s arm rather than his throat was how  _ fast _ the beast was, snapping his forearm in front of Stiles defensively the instant before he latched on. The wolf tried to shake him off, but Stiles just bit down harder, growling and maintaining his hold like a police dog. Finally the werewolf managed to bat him away and Stiles rolled into the fall, immediately coming back to his feet and whirling around to stand between it and the fallen wolf, who hadn’t moved. 

Stiles lifted his lip in a snarl and dared the werewolf to try to get past him. He hadn’t been able to save his mother but god  _ damn _ him if he was going to allow someone else to die on his watch. The werewolf just stared at him for a moment, breathing hard, his arm still bleeding but healing slowly. He smelled...off. Like antiseptic and medication and  _ crazy _ . Maybe that was just the look in his eye though, not his scent. After a long moment, the werewolf finally turned tail and darted off into the trees. Stiles watched after him until he was sure he was gone, wishing he could yell after him,  _ Yeah you better run!  _ But he figured it was probably better that he couldn’t.

When he was sure that they were alone, he turned back to the female wolf and looked her over. Her wounds weren’t healing, which was concerning. Didn’t wolves heal? He was pretty sure wolves were supposed to heal. Her eyes were open though, even if her breath was labored and she didn’t seem capable of movement. He touched his nose to hers, wishing he knew what to do. He could shift back and call someone but...who? You couldn’t exactly call 911 for a wolf. The vet? Could you call a vet for this kind of thing? He had no clue.

He whined, long and low, trying to convey his desire to help alongside his lack of knowledge of how to do so. The wolf nodded her head toward the house pointedly. The house? What about the house? He looked back and forth in confusion. She nodded at it again, so he hesitantly left her side and ran into the house, searching for anything that might help. Maybe she had some first aid stashed somewhere? He began sniffing around, trying to locate anything that smelled like the wolf outside, and was surprised when he found a trail that led to a duffel bag in a corner not dissimilar to his own. Perhaps she’d had the same idea about this place.

He shifted back into his human form to more easily carry the bag and darted back outside. He was terrified that the wolf was going to bleed out before he figured out what she needed, but to his overwhelming relief he saw that she had shifted by the time he slid to his knees beside her with the bag.

“Okay, what do you need?” he asked urgently.

“Phone,” she rasped, her hand weakly indicating a side pocket. He wasted no time in thrusting his hand inside and pulling it out.

“Do you need me to dial or you got it?”

She took the phone from him in answer and unlocked it. He watched her pull up her contacts and dial #3 on her favorites list, someone just listed as “Doc.”

“Good evening, Laura,” a smooth voice said from the other line. “How can I help you?”

“Doc, I need you to come out to the house. It’s urgent.” Stiles was impressed by how even her voice was, if a little strained and breathy. 

“Of course. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” The line clicked and Laura nearly dropped the phone, her limbs weak.

“I need you to call my brother,” she said, turning her head to look at Stiles. “Please.”

“Okay, yeah. What’s his name?” he asked, already pulling up her contacts. He guessed her brother was one of her favorites, but it was hard to tell since the top five were “Asshole,” “Troublemaker,” “Doc,” “Witch Bitch,” and “TDH.” Stiles spared a moment to think that, once they got out of this harrowing situation, he might actually quite like this woman.

“His name’s Derek. He’s listed as number one.”

Ah, so Asshole, then. He dialed and put the phone to his ear, impatiently waiting for him to pick up while simultaneously scanning the trees for any sign of “Doc,” despite the fact that it had only been about two minutes of the allotted fifteen.

“Laura, I told you I’m not coming back to Beacon,” a gruff voice answered.

Stiles was so taken aback for a second that he didn’t answer at first. Clearly there was some baggage there that he didn’t have the time to unpack at the moment.

“Laura?” the voice called when the pause stretched on too long.

“Um, is this Derek?”

“Who is this?” If possible, the man’s voice became even gruffer. 

“My name is Stiles. Your sister’s been hurt and she asked me to call you. Someone’s on their way to help but...it’s not good. You should probably rethink your stance on not coming back to Beacon Hills.”

There was a long moment of tense silence then, “I’ll be there in a few hours. Keep me updated.” The phone clicked and Stiles was left with dead air. Laura’s friends did not seem to understand the concept of saying goodbye before hanging up.

He turned back to her, his hands fluttering uselessly as he tried to figure out what would be helpful. TV shows all said to apply pressure. Should he apply pressure? Would that make it worse? They should probably try to stop the bleeding at least. He pulled out a clean shirt from her duffel bag and pressed it to the deepest wound, a large gash on her abdomen, and pressed as hard as he dared.

“I’m sorry,” he said when she hissed, “We’ve got to stop the bleeding until that guy gets here to help you.”

“It’s alright,” she breathed. “Thank you.” She turned her green-blue eyes to his and held his gaze with a discomfiting intensity. “I mean it. Thank you. I would have died tonight if you hadn’t done what you did.”

Stiles shrugged, uncomfortable. His hands were coated in a thick layer of hot, sticky blood. It reminded him of the blood that still lingered in his mouth, the fur stuck between his teeth. “No big deal.”

Somehow, despite bleeding out on the forest floor, Laura managed to give him the most sardonic look he’d ever received. “You attacked a feral alpha werewolf to save my life, even though you don’t even know me. I’d say that’s a big deal.”

“Alright then, you can owe me,” he grinned, just to get her to stop talking about it. If he actually let himself think about how monumentally stupid he’d been by single-handedly taking on  _ an alpha werewolf _ then he’d freak out and they didn’t have time for that.

Exactly fifteen minutes after her call to “Doc,” they heard the sounds of a car approaching. When it stopped, a bald, dark skinned man stepped out, seeming casual and not at all like this was a life or death type situation.

“Hey, man!” Stiles called. “Could you maybe put some pep in that step? She’s lost a lot of blood and her temperature has been dropping. It’s been getting harder to keep her awake.”

“All will be well, Mr. Stillinski,” the man assured him, walking over calmly and kneeling to inspect Laura’s wounds. He gently nudged Stiles’ hands away to see the damage underneath.

Stiles was reeling. “How do you -?”

The man merely smiled at him, almost benignly were it not for the gleam in his eye that spoke of secrets and mysteries. “I know a great many things, Stiles. I make it my prerogative to keep up with the supernatural affairs of this town and you happen to be quite the rarity.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Dr. Deaton,” the man answered, his voice unruffled despite Stiles’ growing anxiety. He watched as the man,  _ Dr. Deaton _ , poked and prodded at Laura before laying his hands on her stomach and closing his eyes. A soft, golden glow began to come from his palms and Stiles was speechless as he watched Laura’s skin knit back together seamlessly.

“How...how did you do that?”

“I am a Druid,” Dr. Deaton replied, in the same tone as one would say, “The weather is nice today,” or “I’d like a nonfat latte, please.” He pulled his hands away and sat back on his heels before continuing, “She will continue to heal on her own just fine now. Wounds delivered by an alpha always heal more slowly, but since she is an alpha as well, she will recover from the less severe wounds without assistance. If you’ll help me get her to my car, I can take her back to my clinic and take care of her until her brother arrives.”

Stiles wanted to ask how the doctor knew that her brother was coming, but he figured it was another one of those things that he just magically knew with his Druidic powers or whatever, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead he hooked his hands underneath Laura’s shoulders and lifted, letting Deaton grab her feet. She’d passed out at some point during Deaton’s examination, but since the doctor didn’t seem worried about it, Stiles had decided not to let himself worry either. It wasn’t until they finished carefully laying her in Deaton’s backseat that Stiles remembered that he was still naked and his clothes were sitting folded in a corner inside the house.

“Um,” he said awkwardly. It was an odd feeling. He felt like he  _ should _ be embarrassed, since humans were typically ashamed of being naked, but as a shifter, he was used to not wearing clothes. Plus, he’d already spent quite a bit of time with the man without even noticing. Instead of commenting on it, he just mentally shrugged and asked if he could come check on Laura in the morning before school.

“Of course. She won’t be fully healed yet by that time, but she will most likely have regained consciousness and will likely be happy to see you. It’s the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic. You should know the address.” Stiles nodded in affirmation. Yes, he knew the address because Scott worked there. Not that he himself had ever been, since he’d always had an irrational fear that if he stepped inside he’d be put into one of the cages, but still. Then again, the fact that the person Laura had on speed dial in case of medical emergencies was a veterinarian was hilarious. He had so many dog jokes. So many. “Come through the back entrance, I’ll let you in.”

Stiles watched him drive off before turning back, the adrenaline fading rapidly into a bone-deep exhaustion. He could tell by his internal clock that he only had a few hours before he had to be up in time to get home and shower before school, even less if he wanted to stop by the vet’s first. He sighed and started toward the house before noticing that Laura’s bag was still on the ground. He picked it up to bring inside with the intention of bringing it to her in the morning when he saw the glint of light off her phone on the ground beside it. Damn. That meant she wouldn’t have it when her brother called. He brought that in with him and set both down by his little corner, shifting for the second time that night and curling as tightly as he could into himself to catch at least a couple hours of rest.


	2. Superfox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura realizes how close both she and Stiles came to dying, Stiles finally understands why the wolf he saved was so familiar, and bonds are solidified between this new, strange pack.

When he next woke, he thought it was his alarm buzzing and reached out blindly with one paw to swat at it. His phone was oddly dark and silent, however, and he raised his head in confusion, looking for the source of the sound. He found it in the shape of Laura’s phone, the name ASSHOLE blazoned across the screen as it continued to ring. He shifted back as quickly as possible, ignoring how it made his bones ache, and scrambled to answer it.

“Hello? Derek?”

“Stiles?”

“Yes, you remember! Are you here? In Beacon Hills, I mean?”

“Yes. Where is she?”

“Right, she’s at the animal clinic. She’s fine. Dr. Deaton did his magic mumbo jumbo and healed her. I was actually about to go there in a bit and bring her her stuff.”

Derek grunted to indicate he heard and hung up. “Chatty,” Stiles remarked to himself, dryly. He stood up and stretched, despite the early hour, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get any more sleep anyway. He pulled on his clothes and shoes, stuffing his phone in his pocket. He pulled the strap of Laura’s bag diagonally over his chest and put her phone back in its original pocket before heading out. It was annoying to run with the bag slapping against his back, but he was too filled with nervous energy to walk so he kept going.

Once he reached his house, he lifted himself up to his window using a combination of the conveniently nearby tree and the first floor roof. After a quick shower, he brushed his teeth (and flossed because, again, fur, gross), threw on some clothes, grabbed his backpack and the duffel, and darted down the stairs. He could hear his dad getting ready for work in his room, but luckily their paths were carefully designed not to cross so Stiles was able to escape to his Jeep without interference. He munched on a granola bar that he snagged from the kitchen as he drove, bouncing his left leg the whole way.

He parked in the back of the building and knocked on the back door, as instructed. He couldn’t help bouncing on his toes as he waited for the door to open. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous, but he just really hoped that Laura was okay. There was also the fact that he was a werefox in what was formally werewolf territory and had attacked a werewolf. Yeah, that could definitely be contributing to the anxiety.

“Stiles, please come in,” Deaton greeted, holding the door open for him. Stiles darted past him and stood awkwardly in the hallway, his fists clenched around the strap of the duffle bag. He could smell Laura and another werewolf in a room just down the hall to his right, but he wasn’t sure if it was rude to just go follow his nose. He decided to wait for Deaton to lead the way.

“Stiles!” Laura greeted happily as soon as Deaton opened the door. Stiles was a bit taken aback by her enthusiasm. The only person who greeted him with any sort of excitement was Scott, and that was only because they’d been best friends since they were three. 

“Hey, Laura,” he smiled, walking over to where she was laying on a metal examination table that had been lined with blankets. He set her bag down on the floor next to it and did his best not to look at the other wolf in the room, from whom he could feel waves of hostility. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks to you. I owe you my life.”

Stiles blushed and shook his head. “I told you it wasn’t -”

“I swear, if you say it wasn’t a big deal one more time I will hurt you.”

He let his smile settle into something a bit more genuine at that, shaking his head fondly. How had he grown attached in such a short time? He guessed saving someone’s life was like that. “Maybe I always go around saving people’s lives. I might be a secret superhero, using my foxy powers to fight evil.”

“Foxy powers?” she wrinkled her nose comically. “Really?”

He laughed. “Okay, maybe not. I’m actually surprised it worked. I’m not exactly the largest of species.”

“No, but you were fierce. The way you stood in front of me after he threw you off, like you were just _daring_ him to try to get through you. It was impressive.”

Stiles swore he could feel his blush down to his _toes_. He shrugged helplessly, unable to say anything. Which was not usual for him, admittedly. For the first time, he allowed himself to glance up at the other wolf, glad to note that the hostility had markedly abated during his and Laura’s interaction.

“Stiles, this is Derek,” Laura introduced. And oh boy, was Stiles not prepared for the cheekbones and the stubble and the _eyes_ and the - _no, bad Stiles! Focus._ “Derek, this is Stiles, the fox that saved my life.”

“Thank you,” Derek says, in that gruff voice of his. It’s somehow less deep than it sounded over the phone, but no less intense and Stiles finds himself flustered and floundering.

“Yeah, I mean, I wasn’t just gonna let her die, you know. I’m not an asshole. It was all very Fox and the Hound anyway. You know, Tod fighting that bear to save Copper? Very epic. I’ve always wanted to be a hero, you know? So it’s all good. Dreams fulfilled, girl was saved, monster scared away. Stuff for the history books. Or fairy tales. Whatever.” 

Derek blinked at him but then Laura started giggling and Stiles wondered briefly if morphine had any effect on werewolves and if she’d been given some. “You’re so adorable,” she said between giggles, prompting him to become even more bewildered. He glanced at Derek to see him looking just as mystified. “I mean, you were cute as a fox but now I see you’re just this kid that talks a lot when he’s nervous and talks about being a superhero and makes Disney references and you almost _died_ for me last night,” she said, her speech coming faster and more high pitched as she went. “I was so shocked when you came out of nowhere and just barreled into that alpha but then you came back out with my bag and you were so young and I thought I was gonna cry because you still had blood on your mouth and you’re what, fifteen, sixteen? I remember Derek at sixteen and, and,” she started crying, her breath gasping between sobs and both Stiles and Derek froze, unsure of what to do.

Derek unfroze first, putting his arms around her and pulling her close. Hesitantly, Stiles stepped closer and reached out to take her hand. She gripped it fiercely when he did, so he guessed he’d done the right thing.

“I’m alright,” he said softly. “Yeah, it was scary - for both of us - but we’re both alive, we’re here and safe. I might be young but I can take care of myself and it was...it was an _honor_ to save your life, Laura. I am glad, no, I am so fucking happy that you are okay and that I was there to make sure that you made it out of that situation alive. I would do it again. In a heartbeat. Okay?”

She hiccupped slightly, tears still flowing freely down her face, but her sobs had slowed and her breathing had evened out during his speech. She nodded. “Okay.”

He looked up to see Derek staring at him with an expression he wasn’t sure how to read. Awe, maybe, gratitude, plus something indecipherable. He squeezed Laura’s hand again and nodded to them both.

“I’ve gotta get to school but keep me updated, okay? Let me know how you’re doing.” He wrote his phone number on a notepad that sat on the desk in the corner and waved to them before leaving. Deaton was busy with a client so he just gave him a small wave as well before letting himself out the back door.

Throughout the day, Stiles was distracted - well, more distracted than usual, constantly thinking about Laura and her brother and whether they were alright. Regardless of how soon Laura regained full health, there was still that rogue alpha that attacked her to worry about. What if he came after her again? He didn’t know enough about werewolf politics to know if they were fighting for territory or some other reason. Derek had seemed reluctant to come to Beacon Hills, implying that Laura wasn’t from here either. Then again...the more time he spent rolling their names around in his head, Derek and Laura, Laura and Derek, werewolves, brother and sister, the more familiar it seemed.

It wasn’t until his study period after lunch that it hit him and he literally gasped out loud, causing Scott to look over at him in confusion and alarm.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said quickly, trying to rein in his shock. “Just a...really good part in my book.”

Scott shrugged and went back to doodling in his notebook, suitably convinced. At least Stiles actually had a book out in front of him, pretending to read it. He just hadn’t turned the page in the past ten minutes.

Except now he knew why their names were familiar, why Derek had probably been so reluctant to come back. They were Laura and Derek _Hale_ , of the Hale pack which had been slaughtered by hunters only a month after they had killed Stiles’ mother. He had been camping out in _their house_. He was just lucky they weren’t pissed at him for trespassing on their territory. Wolves were very growly about that kind of thing. Not that foxes weren’t, it was just that foxes didn’t have huge packs like wolves did and so their territory was usually like, a house with a garden. 

He felt his heart bleed just a little bit more for the two wolves, knowing how much they’d lost. It wasn’t pity, he hated receiving pity and he’d never give it to someone else who didn’t deserve it, but he sympathized with their grief. At least they had each other. They seemed pretty close, too, which Stiles would never admit to envying. He wondered if they had known his mother, or at least remembered her from the time she’d gone to Talia Hale and requested permission to live in town (again, wolves were stupidly territorial, there’s no reason to claim _the whole town_ ). He had found himself forgetting her more and more lately, just the details, like her laugh, the shade of her fur when she shifted, how she liked her tea, but it scared him. He felt like he was losing her more and more each day and he had no one to talk to about it.

The bell rang, startling him out of his thoughts and he shoved his book into his backpack to follow Scott into the hallway.

“Hey, man,” Scott bumped his shoulder against Stiles’ as they walked. “You’ve seemed even more distracted than usual today. Something wrong?”

“Nah.” Stiles shook his head and nudged Scott back, jostling them both slightly to the left as they made their way through the hallway. “Just forgot my Adderall this morning. You know how it is.”

Scott made a disapproving noise. “Man, you know you can’t skip like that. Especially since I know you take extra sometimes and that messes everything up.”

“Thanks, _mom_ ,” Stiles snarked, rolling his eyes. Really, it was sweet that Scott cared so much, but it just made him feel a small twist of guilt for lying to him. It wasn’t like he could tell Scott about the fight with the alpha or the two werewolves he had met. His best friend knew nothing about the supernatural, didn’t even know what Stiles was. It made things difficult sometimes, like when Stiles desperately needed the weekend to just spend as a fox and had to come up with an excuse why he couldn’t spend Saturday in their pajamas eating junk food playing video games, but Stiles dealt with it like he dealt with everything. With a wide grin, he slung his arm around Scott’s shoulders and loudly started chattering about anything and everything that wasn’t relevant until they reached their next class.

Time dragged by in chemistry like it was physically fighting to remain stationary. Stiles bounced his leg, glancing at the clock at intervals that he _thought_ were every five minutes but were really more like every thirty seconds. Finally Harris called him out on it, asking him if he had a hot date after school and that was why he kept checking the time. He did his best to stop after that, but was only marginally successful.

Blessedly, the torture eventually ended and students poured out the front doors into the parking lot. Stiles casually offered to drive Scott to work rather than him having to bike there.

“Really, dude? That’d be great! Thanks.”

Stiles drove around to the back entrance to drop him off, trying to figure out how to invite himself inside without making it weird or revealing the reason why. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

Right as Scott shut the passenger door and yelled his goodbye, Stiles’ phone buzzed and he picked it up, reading: 

_Hey, SuperFox, just wanted to let you know Doc released me into the wild. Feel free to come by the house after school. I have a feeling there’s some things we need to talk about. -LH_

Stiles smirked at his new nickname. He wondered if that was what she’d entered his number as in her phone. He got the feeling that was a very Laura thing to do. He pulled back out onto the road and headed out to the Hale mansion.

It looked very different in the sunlight. Less creepy, but about a thousand times more depressing, like the ghosts were gone and all you were left with was the ashes and the emptiness. Stiles stepped out of his Jeep. He couldn’t sense either wolf inside the house, though he could tell they’d been here recently. He glanced around nervously. Maybe he was wrong and they _were_ mad at him for being on their territory. Or maybe that alpha came back and finished the job. His heart started to pick up speed and his palms started to sweat. 

Then, suddenly, he heard thunderous paws crashing through the underbrush to his left, like two wolves chasing each other. He had about a minute warning before a mass of black fur and claws came tumbling out of the trees onto the grass in front of the house, rolling and growling playfully.

Stiles let out his breath and rolled his eyes. “You guys are adorable. Like little puppies.”

They stopped their fake fighting to look over at him. Derek was on his back, his head turned to stare at him with electric blue eyes, while Laura was crouched over him where she’d previously been sinking her teeth into Derek’s neck, her eyes blazing red.

He started to get a bit nervous with the attention. “Uh, you guys asked me to be here, remember? And it’s not like you didn’t know I was standing here.”

Then, without even looking at each other to coordinate their movements, they both leapt at him and he yelped, putting his arms up to protect his face as they jumped all over him. It took him a second to realize that they were just playing with him too and he started laughing and pushing back, shoving at their huge, thick furred bodies with his still human fingers. 

“Guys! I thought I came here to talk! If we were gonna mess around I would have shifted first.”

The werewolves backed off, leaving him panting on the ground, but smiling genuinely for the first time in what felt like forever. They both shifted, standing up on two legs instead of four. Stiles very pointedly kept his eyes on their faces, because it was really just cosmically unfair how attractive they both were. Was it wrong to be attracted to both of them? Probably. Definitely. Although if he were being honest he was almost certainly more attracted to Derek. He needed to stop thinking about this. Right now.

Laura reached out her hand and pulled him to his feet. “I did ask you here to talk, but then Derek insinuated that he could take me now that I’m not at 100% and I couldn’t let that stand.” Stiles nodded sagely at this, trying to hold in his mirth. Siblings. He’d never had one but he understood the dynamic well enough. “Then you showed up and we couldn’t resist.”

“Was it the dog joke? Because I was totally kidding but also not because I mean, you should have seen the two of you.”

Derek growled in annoyance but Laura just rolled her eyes at him before slinging an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and practically pulling him off his feet again in her attempt to guide him toward the house. “Come on, let us get dressed and then we can have that talk.”

Stiles followed them inside, even though ‘inside’ was rather a relative term, considering only small sections of the roof had survived. Such as the part over his corner, which he could clearly see as they walked past and he knew it smelled like him. He wondered if they would ask about it. He hoped they wouldn’t.

Once they were dressed, Laura brought them into what Stiles assumed used to be the living room. A couch had survived, barely, but none of them wanted to risk sitting on it. They sat on the floor instead, which was oddly comfortable in its casualness and served to rid Stiles of the lingering nerves that fluttered in his stomach.

“So, I’m assuming you have some questions. We’d also like to ask some of you, if that’s alright.”

“Yes,” Stiles answered cautiously. When Laura gestured for him to go first he took a half second to put his questions in order and then launched, “Okay so: who was that alpha werewolf? Why did he smell sick? Is something wrong with him? Is this his territory? Is this _your_ territory? I know this _used_ to be your territory. Is it bad that I’ve been staying here? Why did he attack you? Or did you attack him and I just came in at the wrong time? Is there anyone else in your pack?”

Both Laura and Derek were staring at him wide-eyed, clearing not expecting the deluge of questions. “Woah, woah,” Laura interrupted, holding up her hand. “Let me start with those before you keep going.”

Stiles snapped his jaw closed and nodded, his cheeks tinging pink.

“We don’t know who the alpha is. We do know that he’s rogue and dangerous. That means he has no pack and is basically an omega but more powerful and even less stable.” Stiles winced. He may not know much about werewolves but he knew that omegas were bad news bears. “As to why he smelled sick...I don’t know. I don’t really think I noticed that.”

“Really? But your sense of smell is better than mine.”

“I was a bit preoccupied at the time.”

“Right. Duh. Sorry. Um, well, he smelled like a hospital. You know, antiseptic, chemicals, IV fluid, plastic, blood, everything that makes up eau de hôpital. Plus he had that crazy look in his eye that means that the hospital he’s from is probably the psych ward.”

“How do you know so much about what a hospital smells like?” Derek asked. His tone was aggressive, but Stiles had already figured out that that was just how Derek talked.

“My best friend’s mom is a nurse. I spent a lot of time there after...well, I just, I spent a lot of time in the hospital.”

Laura and Derek exchanged a look but they didn’t push him to elaborate, for which he was grateful. The truth was that after his mom’s death, Stiles spent a lot of time at Scott’s house or hanging out at the hospital with Scott’s mom. Melissa was great. She was so patient and understanding, giving him all the support he needed however he seemed to need it at any given moment. But she wasn’t his mom. And she wasn’t his dad. And now hospitals just reminded him of the loneliest time in his life, so yes, he recognized that smell very well.

Laura cleared her throat and continued. “As a rogue alpha with no pack, he has no established territory. Technically, this is still Hale pack territory and we could claim it if we wished, but we haven’t.” At that she gave a pointed look to her brother which spoke of myriad previous conversations between the two. “As for why he attacked me, which he did, I did not provoke the fight, I do not know. Someone sent me a picture of a deer with a spiral cut into its side to draw me here and when I came to investigate, I found the rogue in the woods.”

“A spiral? I’m guessing that means something in Wolf.”

If Derek rolled his eyes any harder they’d fly out of his head. “Yes,” Laura answered him, far more patiently than her brother, “it’s a promise for revenge. It cannot be recanted. Once drawn, blood must be spilled in retribution for the act being avenged.”

“Ooooh, very dramatic, I like it.” Stiles grinned, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “So now we have a two-fold mystery: who is the crazy alpha and what is the revenge spiral all about? I’m getting shivers.”

“This is serious,” Derek snapped. “Laura could have died. This isn’t a game.”

Instantly Stiles switched tones and leveled his own glare back at Derek. “I am aware. In case you’ve already forgotten, I was the one who saved your sister’s life from a beast that is literally three times my size and obviously so far out of his mind that he attacks other alphas without provocation. I’ve spent my whole life watching my own back, since my species is on the brink of extinction. If I want to bring some levity into the situation you will goddamn excuse me for doing so.”

Derek at least had the decency to look abashed, dropping his eyes and looking away. Stiles took a moment to rein in his anger, feeling his claws ready to pop out of the tips of his fingers so he could take out his frustration on something. He was used to people discounting him because of his constant flippancy and jokes, but for some reason it stung more coming from Derek. Which, he acknowledged to himself, was ridiculous considering he barely knew the man. Two deep, steady breaths later he was able to push it back and focus back on Laura.

He smiled at her. “Alright, Scooby gang, let’s hear all the facts. I need to know more so I can research properly.”

“What more do you need to know?”

They talked for the next hour and a half. Stiles had run to his car to grab a notebook and pen from his backpack to take notes about everything they’d noticed about the alpha, other “animal attacks” in town (he’d have to sneak into the precinct or hack his dad’s account for more info on those), possible theories about the spiral, and brainstorming plans to take the alpha down. Stiles also asked questions about werewolves in particular, their pack dynamics, why they cared so much about territory. 

“I mean, I don’t like unfamiliar people in my house, but like, the whole town?” 

“It’s a safety thing.”

“Uh huh.”

“You mean you don’t care if, say, a werewolf were to camp out in your backyard?”

“I mean, it would be creepy, yeah,” Stiles answered, one hand flailing to emphasize his point. “But it’s not like I’d get all snarly and ‘get off my lawn’ about it. My house is my safe place. My room. Or, they were, I guess.” He didn’t mean to add that last part. Shit.

“Were?” Oh no, they were both looking at him with confusion and sympathy. Nope. He couldn’t handle that.

“You know what I noticed last night?” he asked quickly. Not the smoothest topic change in history, but he rolled with it. “The alpha didn’t fully shift. He stayed in beta shift the whole fight. Why is that?”

Again, the siblings exchanged a look that expressed that they knew exactly what Stiles was doing but were deciding to let him get away with it. For now. “That’s a good question. Maybe it has something to do with the sickness you mentioned? It takes a lot of energy to shift back and forth.”

“I’ll add it to our list.” He scribbled it down, avoiding their eyes. “Well,” he said brightly, as soon as he was done, “I better get going if I’m going to get any research _and_ my homework done and also get some sleep.”

He started to stand when Laura called his name cautiously. He looked back at her, already dreading what she was going to say. “We noticed that you’ve been sleeping here,” she said bluntly. “Are you...do you have another place to stay for tonight?”

Stiles swallowed hard and tried to smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I mean, I’ve got a house and a bed and everything. I just...liked it here. It’s no big deal.”

“You say that a lot about things that are definitely a big deal,” Laura argued. Her expression was too soft and she was getting too close to poking at the gaping wound that sat in his chest. He needed to get out of there. Now.

“Right, well, understatement is key. Anyway, I’ll talk to you guys later. Hopefully I’ll have something useful by tomorrow. Bye!”

He practically ran out of the house. He threw himself into his Jeep and took off before either of them could stop him. He took a shaky breath as he drove, trying to calm the flood of adrenaline to his system. No one had known that he slept at the Hale house, ~~his dad~~ no one had even noticed that he didn’t sleep in his bed anymore. He’d felt a terror that seemed disproportionate to the situation when he realized that if Laura kept on her line of questioning she might ask _why_ he snuck out of the house to sleep in the burnt remains of the old house, why he couldn’t sleep in his own bed with an actual mattress and blankets and a real roof. She might ask if he was _okay_ and he would have snapped. He wasn’t sure which way that would go, if he would have started snarling and yelling or, worse, if he would have just broken down into sobs and cried until there was nothing left. It was much better to avoid the situation all together and find a new place to sleep at night.

His dad, unsurprisingly, wasn’t home when he arrived so Stiles spent some time in the kitchen before going up to his room. He made a meal big enough for two people and covered one plate for his dad and put it in the fridge. He didn’t know if his dad would eat it - honestly it was a 50/50 shot - but he felt better for having done it. He took his food with him to eat while he researched.

Four hours later Stiles sat back in his chair and was startled by the time he read in the corner of his laptop screen. It was always like this with ADHD, losing time when he got too zoned in on something. He should have set his alarms to help him manage it, like he was supposed to, but he forgot. Which is why it was now eleven o’clock and he hadn’t even started his homework. He sighed heavily and dragged his backpack over with his foot. He spent the next hour and half trudging through his assignments before calling it and putting everything back in the bag for the morning. He stood up and stretched, wondering where he could go to sleep.

He knew the smartest thing would be to just sleep here. It was safe, warm, familiar. There was no logical reason for him to traipse out into the night and spend an unknown amount of time looking for a relatively secure spot when he had a perfectly acceptable den right here. He took a slow breath in and released it carefully. He imagined crawling into his bed, turning off the light, falling asleep. He remembered the last time he’d done that and the unforgettable torrent of fear that woke him, freezing his limbs in place as he heard the sounds of glass breaking and wood snapping. He heard the sound of a bow string releasing, followed by his mother’s cut-off scream. He lay there, his breaths coming too fast, his vision blurring with tears and lack of oxygen as he listened to her pained whines and the laughter of the men that were hurting her. 

No. He couldn’t stay here. He grabbed his phone off its charger and ducked out the window. He made it to the treeline before he paused, unsure. It was the first time in a long time that he didn’t have a plan for where to go. It would be a lot easier to just shift here and run as a fox, but then he wouldn’t have his cell phone to wake him up in the morning. Then again, the itch to shift was becoming unbearable and he always woke up before his alarm anyway. Nodding to himself, Stiles ducked behind a tree and stripped. He folded his clothes and turned off his phone, tucking it between his shirt and pants.

He’d only been running a few minutes when he heard rustling coming from either side of him and he panicked, cursing himself for being so caught up in his emotions that he forgot about the killer alpha in the woods. He started to run faster, hoping that his small size and agility might make up for how large the creature was.

Except, wait, he’d heard noises from _both_ directions, meaning two somethings were chasing him. He was just starting to work himself into a real, mind-bending panic when two giant, black wolves came up on either side of him, keeping pace and blocking him in. He glanced at both their faces, breathing in their scents. _Damn it, guys_ , he grumbled to himself. If he kept hanging around them he was going to end up having a heart attack by the age of twenty-five.

Together, they not-so-gently herded him toward the Hale house like a couple of sheep dogs. Stiles sighed but let them lead him. They arrived at the front steps, panting slightly, and Stiles dropped down on his belly, his head on his paws, feeling defeated. Somehow they had known that he was going to leave his house for another place to sleep. He hadn’t known he was so transparent.

Gentle fingers started carding through his fur and he turned his head to see that Laura had shifted back and was petting him, her eyes patient but stern in a way that meant she wanted an explanation.

Reluctantly, Stiles shifted back as well and stood. He avoided their eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the ground. Just because he had saved her life didn’t mean she got to meddle in his! He had been doing fine, thank you. He had a system. It was working. He clenched his jaw tightly and pulled his arms more securely across his middle.

“Stiles.” Damn Laura for sounding so concerned. He was truly weak for puppy dog eyes, he couldn’t handle them. He just needed to avoid looking at her. “Stiles. You can sleep here if you want. We weren’t trying to kick you out.”

“I can find somewhere else,” he protested. “I know it’s your territory or whatever. It’s fine. It’s not a -”

Laura’s harsh growl cut him off before he could finish and he winced. Right. She hated when he said that. He dug a bare toe into the dirt and kept his eyes averted.

“We don’t mind.” Derek this time. Why did he feel so weak against Derek being nice to him? It had been less than a day! Was he really so pathetic that he rolled over for anyone who showed him basic kindness? (The answer was yes. Yes he was.)

“Alright, then,” he said softly. He risked a glance at their faces and had to hurry past them into the house at the sympathy he saw there. At least it wasn’t pity. He would have turned tail and run so fast he would have made sure neither of them could catch him.

“Do you mind telling us why you can’t sleep at home?” Laura asked him carefully. Stiles automatically headed for his corner and was surprised when both wolves followed him. He didn’t answer, instead getting ready to shift. A large, warm hand on his arm stopped him.

“If you don’t feel safe at home, we can help you.” He looked into Derek’s earnest green-blue eyes and nearly broke. The problem was that he didn’t really know how to answer. Hunters hadn’t bothered them since that night and it wasn’t like he was under any direct threat. It was just...the memories. The instinct that said that his home had been invaded once and it could be again.

“Hunters,” he blurted, before he could stop himself. “They killed my mom. Downstairs in the living room. I was in bed. I-I just can’t…”

Suddenly he was enveloped in strong arms and held tightly. He rested his head on Derek’s chest and let the tears that had been gathering in his eyes fall as he felt Laura come up behind him and join the hug. It should have been awkward, probably, hugging two practical strangers while naked, but it was just comforting. It was no different than curling up with his mom had been while they were both in their fox forms. Just pure animal comfort. 

Eventually they parted and Stiles immediately pushed his humanity away in sake of his fox. It had helped to say the words out loud for once, to receive physical comfort, but he was still overwhelmed and just wanted the release of being his other, less complicated self for a while. Derek and Laura joined him and curled around him in a circle of furry warmth. As he lay his head on his tail and closed his eyes, Stiles’ last thought before drifting off to sleep was that this was the safest he’d felt in six years.


	3. The Strength of the Wolf is the Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The true strength of the wolf isn't fangs, speed, and skill – it's the pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, not gonna lie, I cried writing this.

“...just come back here, for a fight we’re not ready for?”

“Derek, we can’t just keep running away. I know it was too much at first, for both of us, but it’s killing us not having a real pack. And would you say that New York is a real home? Honestly?”

Stiles’ ear twitched as he listened to this conversation that he was clearly supposed to still be asleep for. From the direction of their voices he knew they were standing a few feet in front of him. He tried to keep his breathing even and not give himself away, not wanting to interrupt them.

“Okay.” There was the sound of powerful lungs expelling air, disturbing the dust around them. Stiles tried not to sneeze. “But do we have to make a new pack _here_? We could go anywhere. Hell, we don’t even have to stay in America.” 

“I can’t explain it, but I know it needs to be here. It feels... _right_.” There was a long pause as both of them digested Laura’s announcement. “Plus, you can’t tell me that you didn’t feel the bond forming with that fox.”

Derek made a disgruntled noise. “Foxes don’t even have packs.”

“You’re not denying it.”

“No...I’m not.” Silence settled after that and Stiles felt a soft warmth flood his chest and belly at the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one that had felt the sudden and strong attachment, the _bonding_ . He didn’t really know much about how packs were supposed to work exactly, but he thought he understood what Laura meant about it just feeling _right_. At some point, he actually did doze off again until he was startled awake by human fingernails scratching the back of his neck lightly. It felt really nice. The opposite of an incentive to move, really.

“Stiles,” Laura said gently, “I’m not sure when you have to be at school but this is when you came to Deaton’s yesterday.”

Stiles groaned, or at least as close as he could get as a fox. He felt rather lucky in the range of sounds he could make in this form. Foxes were incredibly vocal creatures, unlike wolves who seemed to have their speech limited to howls, barks, and growls as far as he could tell. He wondered if it was just a happy coincidence that it suited his personality so well, or if it actually influenced his personality. Maybe it was a feedback loop. 

He rolled onto his paws and shook out his fur before looking up at the wolves. His new...pack? Friends, at least. He didn’t want to get too cocky. Derek was back in wolf form, shifting his weight from paw to paw like he was anxious to get going. Stiles rubbed his side against Laura’s leg and then Derek’s side in thanks before darting off toward home to leave the wolves to do whatever it was that they did during the day. He was already visualizing where he’d left yesterday's clothes, hoping that they hadn’t gotten too messed up from a night exposed to the elements, wondering about his Spanish assignment which he knew he’d done while half-awake and he wasn’t entirely certain he hadn’t actually put the answers down in Polish. That was the danger of maintaining three separate, in-depth thought processes at any given time, being sleep deprived, and thinking about the most traumatic night of his life simultaneously. 

He was so deep in thought, guided by the almost metronomic pounding of his paws against the ground, that he didn’t notice Derek running next to him for the first few minutes. When he finally did, he nearly brained himself on a tree by diverting his attention from where he was going. Derek had to shove him out of the way at the last second, which was more than a little embarrassing.

Because his brain was stuck on Worst Case Scenario: Spin the Wheel for Fun, he naturally began panicking. What if they had sensed the alpha near his house last night and that was the real reason they had been nearby? And Derek was only following him now because there was a chance the alpha could attack? Or what if they were just keeping Stiles close because they didn’t trust him and were secretly planning to kill him if he did anything they didn’t like? Or what if they already _had_ decided to kill him and now he was isolated and alone and perfect dog food material! Or! His thoughts were at an unbearable decibel now and he wished he had volume control for his brain but unfortunately, his anxious fears just kept screaming at him as he ran, incessant. Maybe somehow they blamed him for what happened to their family. His mother had only died a month before the Hale fire and the hunters had only been in town because he’d been careless. He hadn’t listened to his mom when she’d told him to be careful and he’d been seen. It had been his fault. Oh god. He hadn’t just gotten his mother killed. He’d gotten that whole family killed.

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe at all and he stumbled, crashing to the ground. He could feel Derek kneeling over him, could tell that he was blocking the beginning rays of the sun, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than his guilt and his useless lungs.

“Stiles, breathe,” Derek commanded. He placed a large, warm hand across Stiles’ ribs gently, his fingers sinking into pale fur. “Just breathe.”

It felt like it took forever for his body to calm down. He knew he must look ridiculous, like a fish out of water, flopping and gasping, only instead of fins and scales he had fur and paws. Ironically, it was that bizarre mental image of himself that broke him free of the vice grip of _panicguiltgrief_ around his chest.

“Shift back,” Derek demanded, once it was clear he was no longer in danger of suffocating himself with his emotions. Stiles shook his head and tried to stand but Derek’s hand held him firm. “Shift back.”

Stiles wriggled, trying to get free. If his emotions were this overwhelming as a fox there was no _way_ he was going to shift, not in front of Derek. Who had already seen him break down. Twice. Fuck. He needed to keep some sort of dignity. His paws scraped against the dirt as he tried to claw his way free.

“Damn it, Stiles, just shift back and talk to me.”

After several more attempts to free himself, Stiles finally lay back, panting and glaring at Derek. It occurred to him belatedly that he hadn’t even tried attacking Derek directly. The thought of biting him hadn’t even crossed his mind. Was that a pack thing? He didn’t think so, but then, what did he know? With a heaved, put-upon sigh, Stiles gave in and shifted back.

“You are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met,” Stiles groused. He was still on his back, Derek’s hand on his ribs, but now he had dirt in places he’d rather not think about.

“I could say the same to you,” Derek replied with a pointed glare of his own. He had very expressive eyebrows. Much more expressive than Laura’s. Stiles wondered if it was a family trait.

“Well? I shifted. You happy? Can I get up now?”

“Not until you tell me what happened.”

Stiles frowned and looked away. He bit his lip, trying to figure out what he could say to get himself out of this. “I just...realized something. That’s all.”

Derek’s eyebrows were incredulous. “Must have been a pretty big something. I didn’t even know shifters could _have_ panic attacks in their animal forms.”

Stiles swallowed and made again to stand. This time Derek let him. Stiles was surprised to see how close they were to the house. The tree where he’d hidden his clothes was only a few yards away.

“I get them less as a fox,” Stiles admitted, opting for the slightly safer subject, “but my emotions are only dulled in my other form, not gone. I don’t know how it is for wolves.”

“It’s similar. It’s like everything gets simplified; there’s no more nuance to what we’re feeling.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. He walked over to his clothes and started pulling them on. “Did you know that my coloring most resembles a corsac fox?” he asked casually, pulling on his jeans. He didn’t have underwear, but he usually went commando just in case of a Fox Emergency, as he dubbed them in his head, so he wasn’t bothered. “They’re indigenous to Siberia, Mongolia, and China. It kinda makes me wonder if that’s because my mom was from Poland and there was some immigration-slash-intermixing going on, but I’m not sure. I don’t actually know anything about my werefox ancestry so I kinda just make up my own theories.” He pulled his shirt over his head roughly and glanced at Derek out of the corner of his eye. He knew from experience that if he just kept _talking_ , people usually gave up on whatever line of questioning he wanted them to abandon. “Your coloring is a variant of the grey wolf, or canis lupus, though it’s also been seen among red wolves, canis rufus. You guys are kinda from all over the place, Europe, Asia, North America...so it’s hard to say where werewolves originate from in general.” He picked up his phone and turned it on, shoving it in his pocket while still rambling. “Personally, I think werewolves have a dual origin in both Europe and North America. Werefoxes, though, I’m pretty sure are from Asia. Not that I look Asian, but I guess that’s not really the point I’m trying to make.”

“Stiles.”

“I mean, first of all the Japanese have the kitsune, which implies that they’ve kinda known about werefoxes for a while, but I also don’t think kitsune and werefoxes are the same thing. The legends I’ve read about kitsune just don’t really seem to jive with me, you know? Though that might be a cultural difference, I don’t know.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure I’m late now and I really need to shower before class so thanks for, you know, everything and oh! I have a bunch of research I need to tell you guys about after school so I’ll text you, okay?”

He turned on his heel and jogged up to his house, effectively cutting off Derek’s next protest. He entered through the back door this time since his dad had the early shift this morning and he was too exhausted and shaky to try and climb up to his window. He felt Derek’s eyes on him the whole way.

School felt even more tortuous than usual. Partially because he actually _had_ forgotten his Adderall that morning after all the stress and panic, and partially because Scott had finally gotten Allison to pay attention to him.

Lovely Allison, beautiful Allison, smart Allison, with her pretty hair and nice laugh and kind eyes. Stiles had listened to his moonstruck best friend moan about his crush until finally he couldn’t take it anymore and finally just walked up to her himself and introduced them both. Apparently, Lovely Allison was rather happy with this turn of events and asked Scott to walk her to class so they could keep talking. _Good_. Now Stiles could hear himself think. Shit. Now he could hear himself think.

He tried to focus on what his teacher was saying in English, honestly he did, but his pen kept tapping against his desk and his leg kept bouncing and his mind kept darting back to the revelation he’d had that morning like poking at a wound he just couldn’t leave alone.

He remembered that day. He’d had too much energy, as usual, and had been zipping around the house, knocking things over with his fluffy tail and clumsy paws. Finally his dad had caught him around the middle and picked him up, looking him in the eyes.

“Mieczysław,” his father had said in his Serious Voice, “if you don’t calm down right now I’m going to throw you to the wolves.”

Stiles had stared back at him with wide-eyes, trying to picture what it would be like to be tossed to the werewolves as punishment. He’d never really heard bad things about them, but he’d seen some of the Hales from a distance and they always seemed so much bigger and scarier than he’d ever be.

“Jonathan,” his mother had chastised, sweeping into the room with her comforting scent of pine needles and sugar, “don’t scare the poor kit. We have nothing to fear from the wolves, dear.” This last was directed at Stiles, whom she had liberated from his father’s grasp. She booped him on the nose and continued, “Now, why don’t you go play outside for a little bit until dinner? Just stay in the yard where I can see you and don’t go into the woods. You remember the rules?”

He had nodded at her, already squirming to get down, eager to be outside and playing in the sunshine. His father had opened the door for him, shaking his head fondly and laughing as he bounced along, leaping on this and that. He remembered hearing the repeated warning from his father, the reminder that they would both be keeping an eye on him from the window. He had only listened with half an ear, too young and full of curiosity for every little thing to be truly mindful. 

He remembered what it was that called his attention away, that brought him closer and closer to the treeline until he was suddenly darting over roots and under bushes. It had been a butterfly. It was out of season, possibly not even indigenous to the area. It had just been so colorful and bright he couldn’t stop himself from following it, snapping at it playfully with his teeth. He wished he had listened to his parents and stayed in the yard. He wished he had never seen that butterfly. He wished for a lot of things.

At the time, in the fog after his mother’s funeral and the sudden, insurmountable distance between him and his father, he had hardly noticed what happened at the Hale mansion. He remembered now the shock that swept through the town and the gossip and rumors that followed like smoke on the wind. His father had come in, smelling even stronger of grief than usual, and sat with his head in his hands for the longest time, his elbows on the kitchen table. Stiles had tried to comfort him. He had put his small hands around his father’s shoulders and held him as tightly as a ten-year old could, but his father didn’t move. He didn’t even drink that night. He just...sat. Eventually Stiles had gone to bed, feeling desolate and alone. He didn’t even learn of the fire until the next morning.

Somehow time had passed without Stiles’ knowledge and he was now sitting in the cafeteria. He blinked and looked around, disoriented. God, he hated when that happened.

He poked his fork into the gelatinous substance that he was pretty sure was supposed to be green beans and frowned. It should be illegal to serve non-food to students. That should be filed under ‘cruel and unusual punishment’. Didn’t the Founding Fathers have opinions about these sorts of things? He tried to remember what his history textbook had said but his brain just felt kind of staticky and blank.

“Stiles!”

Stiles jumped and dropped his plastic fork, the single green bean he’d managed to separate from the mass flying onto the floor.

“What?” he asked, looking up at Scott with wide, startled eyes.

“Dude, I’ve been calling your name for the past five minutes.” Stiles rolled his eyes at him. He doubted it had been _five minutes_. But still, he hadn’t heard him call his name at all until he yelled. “Are you okay, man?”

Stiles swallowed heavily, feeling a lead weight settle in his gut despite not having eaten a single bite. “Yeah, dude.” He tried to smile. “Of course.”

“Really? ‘Cause, you don’t look it. And you haven’t eaten anything. No matter how sucky the food is you always manage to eat most of it. What’s up?”

Stiles didn’t know how to answer. Before he could open his mouth, he glanced up to see a familiar shade of strawberry blonde stride into the room like she owned the place. Because she did. Lydia Martin could walk into Buckingham Palace and declare herself Queen and Stiles was pretty sure no one could stop her. Then again, he was probably a little biased.

He heard Scott sigh from across the table, but he ignored him. It wasn’t like the guy had any room to talk. Besides, Stiles very adamantly hadn’t told anyone this, but he’d figured out a long time ago that his crush on Lydia was really more hero worship and habit than anything else. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a goddess who deserved better than _Jackson Whittemore_ as a boyfriend. Someone who would appreciate her genius and not just accept the Barbie mask she wore all the time. Plus, every once in a while, when he managed to get close enough to her to smell her perfume or her shampoo or, even better, her natural scent beneath all those chemicals, his fox would nudge him as if to say ‘Dude, there’s something about this girl.’ He had no idea what that something was, other than her just being generally amazing, but he doubted he’d ever get a chance to find out, given the fact that her Mean Girls status and his Invisible Geek status did not clash in the high school hierarchy. 

He saw Jackson sneer at him from beside her just before fingers were snapping in front of his face and he blinked.

“Earth to Stiles!” Scott called, just loudly enough to break him out of his reverie.

“What?” he said dumbly, looking back at his best friend in confusion. Scott just shook his head, his earlier concern forgotten.

“You can’t say anything about how I am with Allison. Lydia Martin walks in the room and you totally space.”

“Um, because she’s gorgeous and awesome and could probably kill a man with those high heels?”

“I worry about you sometimes.”

“Thanks, man, I appreciate your brotherly concern.”

“Any time.”

They finished their lunch period talking about the trailer for the new Captain America movie and Scott manfully dealt with Stiles’ turmoil over how hot Sebastian Stan was as the Winter Soldier. They also made plans to play COD that weekend, complete with far too much junk food and zero parental supervision, given that both their parents would be working all weekend.

“Sweet, so I’ll bring the drinks and stuff, come over at like noon-ish? Though we both know it’ll be more like one-ish because I sleep like the dead on Saturdays.”

Stiles laughed. Yes, he did know. He wished sometimes that he could be like that, but he always woke up with the sun, without fail. He could nap like a boss, though, which almost made up for it, but wasn’t quite the same as Scott’s Saturday morning zombie impression.

After school Stiles texted Laura, since he still didn’t have Derek’s number in his phone, and told them he was heading over to bring the research he’d found last night. She texted him back a thumbs up and a winking emoji, which he wasn’t quite sure how to interpret, but he took to mean he was good to go so he climbed in his Jeep and started driving.

Derek and Laura were both already in the living room, fully dressed this time, when he arrived. There seemed to be much less dust and debris in the living room, but it was still little more than semi-trustworthy floorboards and half a roof.

“You know that it’s kinda morbid and sad that you guys are staying here right? Like, I know Beacon Hills is small, but we do have hotels. And apartments to rent, if you’re staying longer,” he added, trying not to get his hopes up.

Derek raised his eyebrows at him in surprised condescension. “Says the one who’s been sleeping here for months.”

Stiles winced. “Touché,” he allowed. He sat cross-legged on the floor next to them and pulled his backpack open. He’d brought his laptop as well as the printed files from the local ‘animal attacks’, a few printouts of relevant websites, plus several pages of typed notes. He also had a notebook with handwritten notes, because his brain needed to keep track of things in at least three or four different ways at once or else he felt like the information folded in on itself like a stack of cards. Yay, ADHD.

Derek picked up the printed websites first, scanning the highlighted pages. They were an eclectic mix of medical websites, underground supernatural forums, and tactical military history articles. The medical sites were a long shot, Stiles knew, but he’d searched for ones that held the most likely candidates for what he thought the rogue alpha might have, given the chemicals Stiles had smelled along with the disorientation and rage/lack of control. He’d also spent a long time talking to people he’d met through backchannels and spelled chat rooms about all things werewolf, getting far more information than Laura and Derek had known yesterday. He watched Derek’s eyes widen as he scanned the conversations, seeing him nearly choke at some parts, cheeks reddening. Yeah, some of Stiles’ questions hadn’t exactly been relevant to their mission, per se. Still, he wasn’t one to waste an opportunity.

“Why,” Derek managed after a minute, making Laura look up from where she was looking over the police reports, “do you have so many questions about werewolf mating habits?”

“I’m a curious person. People were answering all my other questions so…”

Derek made a noise that was difficult to describe. Laura just laughed. “I have a friend that I think you would get along very well with, Stiles.”

“Oh yeah?” He wondered which one from her contact list it might be. He had so many questions about them since that night.

“Yeah. Malekai is the epitome of the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back’. The two of you would get into a lot of mischief together, I can tell.”

“I’m guessing he’s Troublemaker, then?” Stiles asked with a laugh. He didn’t mention the irony of her using the word ‘mischief’, since that used to be his own nickname.

“You could say that.” Derek’s scoff indicated that Malekai’s ‘troubles’ were frequent and exasperating, but Stiles didn’t think he was wrong in picking up a hint of fondness as well. “He’s also an incubus, so he always thinks that will get him _out_ of trouble instead of simply digging the hole deeper.”

Stiles couldn’t help the full body flush that occurred at the word ‘incubus’. He’d read stories about them, how seductive they were, how the really good ones were so in control they could feed off you for hours and all you would feel afterwards was sated and exhausted. He shifted slightly and pulled open some more relevant websites he’d bookmarked on his laptop, clearing his throat.

“I’d love to meet him sometime,” he said casually. “I was thinking we could start with going over the police reports and trying to find a geographical pattern? I mean if this guy is sick, then he’s probably not going far so we might get lucky and find that he’s only straying a few miles from his homebase or whatever.”

“That’s a good idea, Stiles,” Laura smiled, laying out the reports. Stiles pulled up a map of Beacon Hills and started plotting the points. 

They spent the next three hours going over all the information Stiles had found, debating theories and making annotations on his notes, crossing out incorrect information. Finally, Stiles stomach growled so loud that it interrupted them mid-argument about the possibility of the rogue actually residing in the hospital, which was one of the points within reasonable distance of the attacks.

“I didn’t even realize the time,” Laura said in surprise, glancing at her phone. “We should call it a night.”

Stiles nodded wearily and they all started packing up the papers into their various folders. Stiles told them to keep all the printed copies, since he had everything on his laptop anyway, and started to head to the door.

“Actually, Stiles,” Laura called, looking away from where she and her brother had been sharing one of their Silent Sibling Communications, “we were just about to head to the diner. Would you like to join us?”

Stiles hesitated for a moment. His first instinct was to say no, borne primarily out of a fear of pity and charity, and also because any deviation from routine needed to be run by his father, which always broke their uneasy peace for days afterwards. Then again, this didn’t feel like pity or charity and he really, desperately did not want to go home and eat dinner alone the way he always did. Not when he had the option of eating with his pack.

“Yeah, alright. Let me just text my dad.”

The diner was fairly busy, given that it was a Friday night, but not too crazy. They were quickly seated in a corner booth and Derek surprised Stiles by sliding in next to him rather than sitting next to his sister on the side that faced the restaurant. It seemed to him that wolves naturally preferred the easily defensible position, not ones where their backs faced crowds of unknown people.

“Hi! My name is Tanya, I’ll be your server. Can I start you off with some drinks?”

They all ordered their drinks and picked up the slightly sticky menus from the table. Despite the fact that Stiles always ordered the same thing from here, he couldn’t get himself to look up from the listed options, absurdly aware of the heat radiating off Derek’s side pressed against his. _This is normal_ , he told himself, _packs touch all the time; they’re cuddly and close and touchy. You’re just not used to it._

“So,” Laura started, and Stiles got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had a new appreciation for Derek’s choice of seating. He was trapped between a wall and a wolf. “I know we said we wouldn’t push, but we’re really worried about you, Stiles. You said you can’t sleep at home because of the...hunters that killed your mom?” She seemed to struggle through the sentence as much as he hated to hear it.

Stiles cleared his throat and slowly lowered his menu. His fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against the table as his leg bounced a mile a minute underneath it. 

“When I was,” he started, but his voice faltered and he had to cough and try again. “When I was ten, yeah. In October of 2005.”

Both the wolves fell silent and Stiles didn’t look up from the scratched vinyl tabletop, too scared and ashamed to meet their eyes. Obviously, they understood the significance of that date. The Hale fire had happened in November that same year. This was it. He’d had a taste of what it was like to have a family again and now they were going to learn the truth and they were going to hate him and it would all be over. 

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” Derek said quietly. His voice was thick with emotion and Stiles couldn’t help jerking his head up in surprise.

“ _You’re_ sorry? Why are _you_ sorry? It was my fault. I don’t. Why would you. Why are you apologizing to me? The hunters, they -”

“What are you talking about?” Derek asked, confused. His eyebrows were doing that angry question thing. Stiles felt too bewildered and distraught to lie.

“I wasn’t supposed to be seen. Foxes, we’re...like trophies, I guess. Not the same rules as wolves. But I,” his fingers jerked on the table as he reflexively tried to hold in the words he was about to speak, “saw a butterfly and I went after it and some hunters saw me and followed me back to my house. And then...and a month later,” he couldn’t finish, tears choking the words out of his mouth. Derek and Laura were staring at him in horror and he couldn’t stand it. He needed to get out. He tried pushing at Derek to get him to move but it was like trying to move a brick wall. For a brief, wild moment he considered shifting and darting out under the tables and out the door, but his logical brain stepped in with the knowledge of how bad of an idea that was and so he just kept shoving and letting saltwater fall down his cheeks into his mouth.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, strong arms wrapped around him and held him tight. “It wasn’t your fault.” Stiles struggled against him for a moment longer, unable to process. “It wasn’t your fault, Stiles,” Derek repeated firmly. “None of it.”

Finally Stiles went limp in his hold and lay his head against Derek’s shoulder, breathing deeply. He fisted his hands in Derek’s shirt and pulled himself closer. He didn’t understand why Derek didn’t blame him, why he wasn’t angry. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to take comfort where it was offered.

When his tears slowed and his breathing was back to normal, Stiles sat back and wiped his face. He had enough presence of mind now to be embarrassed by his freak out in a public diner, but was glad that at least they had such an isolated booth and that he’d been mostly hidden by Derek’s body.

At some point, their server had brought over their drinks and Stiles shakily unwrapped his straw and stuck it in his glass before pulling his coke toward him and sucking in greedy mouthfuls of the sweet carbonation. The sugar helped settle something in him and he was finally able to raise his eyes and look at Laura. She looked...heartbroken, and it made him drop his eyes quickly back to the table.

“Oh, sweetie,” she said quickly, reaching her hand across the table and pulling one of his from his glass to grasp tightly, “Derek’s right. It wasn’t your fault. I had no idea you thought that.”

Stiles shrugged, unsure what to say. They didn’t understand. It wasn’t like with werewolves where you had to do something wrong to be targeted by hunters. All he had to do was be _seen_ and they would come running with their crossbows and poison-laced bullets. He had known the rules and he had broken them. It wasn’t a difficult equation to follow.

“My dad can’t even look at me,” he admitted softly, because he needed to admit it to _someone_. He and Scott don’t talk about it. Because Stiles is fine, Stiles is the one that takes care of everyone else and makes sure Scott always has his inhaler and makes people laugh and makes sure his dad eats healthy even though they’re never even in the same room anymore. 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying again until a soft, warm thumb brushes away the tears from his cheek and he ducks his head. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be over the embarrassment of tonight. Then again, he’s known these people for all of, what, two days, and they’ve already seen him cry twice - plus that panic attack this morning - so it’s not like he can sink much lower, dignity-wise.

“He can’t possibly blame you,” Laura said sternly, “you were ten years old. A baby fox following a butterfly. There’s no harm in that.”

Stiles felt like he’d been slapped. “No harm in that?” he echoed hollowly. “My mother died. I had to hear her be murdered as I lay in bed. Your family was burned alive. I’d say there was some harm in that.”

Laura recoiled and shook her head, opening her mouth to retort. She was interrupted before she could speak, however, by the bubbly Tanya asking what they’d like to eat. Stiles had mostly lost his appetite, but he ordered his usual anyway. He mentally thanked Tanya’s professionalism because she barely gave his red rimmed eyes and blotchy face a second glance, merely writing down his order with a jouncy tap of her pen at the end and sauntering off to give it to the cooks.

“Stiles,” Laura started in, as soon as Tanya walked away, “you have to understand that how you perceive events happening is not the truth.”

“How would you know?” he spat, anger rising in him defensively, coiled like a snake ready to bite.

“Because the fault was mine,” Derek said beside him. His tone was grim, a condemned man before the gallows, and it took the air out of Stiles’ anger before he could say another word of protest.

“What?”

“The hunters were here because a human teenager died. She didn’t take to the bite and it was killing her. So, I…” he trailed off, his eyes haunted. Stiles remembered the electric blue stare of Derek’s wolf and put the pieces together. The world realigned then, shifting ever so slightly to allow for a different perspective.

“The hunters were already here,” he said numbly, feeling stupid. “They were already in town.” In retrospect, it made so much sense it was slightly sickening, but he had been so overwhelmed by guilt all he could see was the monstrous excitement in the hunters eyes when they spotted him leaping off a rock to snap his teeth one more time at the butterfly’s wings. He hadn’t stopped to wonder what they were doing in the woods in the first place.

“Yes,” Derek said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

But Stiles was already shaking his head. “It may be true that,” he swallowed, trying to reconcile the thought with his still riotous emotions, “I didn’t bring the hunters here and cause everything, but I still broke the rules. I was seen. There’s no code for hunting foxes. It doesn’t matter if we’re good or bad. It just matters if our...if our pelt is pretty.” He swallowed the bile that rose at the words and pushed on. “I don’t know enough about werewolf history to know why you guys have an agreement with hunters, but we don’t. It’s still my fault that my mom died.”

Neither of the werewolves seemed to know what to say to that, so Derek simply put his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and held him close until their food came. When it did, they picked at their food in silence until Laura started telling stories about her friends from New York, pulling small smiles from Stiles until he was finally belly laughing at their antics and wishing very much that he could meet all of them.

After dinner he simply parked his Jeep in front of his house and dropped his backpack off in his room before shimmying down the tree outside his window to hop in the backseat of Laura’s Camaro. They may still not understand what it was like to be a werefox, but he was starting to truly understand what it was like to have a pack.


	4. A Hunter in Our Midst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles learns the meaning of the name Argent

The next few days settle into a routine of school, research, and spending time with the Hales. Somehow, he also manages to fit in doing his homework and making sure Scott doesn’t feel neglected, but he’s finding it less and less necessary to worry about the latter. Whenever Scott isn’t at work or in class, he’s with Allison. Or texting Allison. Or talking about Allison. Even during their epic gaming session on Saturday, Allison’s name had come up no less than twenty-three times. Stiles had counted.

Stiles gets it, he really does. Young love is a beautiful thing, sacred even, and he is very proud of his best friend for having such a wonderful girlfriend. He wants to say he’d be less bitter about it if Allison didn’t smell just a little bit like gunpowder and some kind of synthetic fiber that stung his nose if he sniffed too deeply, but he also knows that he’d be lying if he did. (He’d only done that once and had managed to laugh it off when he was immediately caught. He avoided getting too close to her after that, though.) The truth was that Stiles, like all foxes, did not care for others very much. When he did find someone he liked, he did not care about them in moderation, like humans did for each other. He latched on with everything he had and would absolutely not hesitate to gut a bitch if they harmed what was his. This was the reason he always got Slytherin on all those Harry Potter quizzes. 

So when Scott started to pull away from him in favor of his girlfriend, Stiles panicked. A little bit. But he was sixteen, an adult by werefox standards according to what he remembered from his mom and everything he’d read since then during his research into all things supernatural, so he could handle a bit of distance from his friend. All he needed to do was take deep breaths and relax. It wasn’t like he was losing Scott completely. He was just in the honeymoon phase. That’s all.

“I feel like I’m dying!”

Laura didn’t even look up from her laptop. “You’re not dying, Stiles.”

Stiles was sprawled across the floor, limbs akimbo. “I am. My best friend has abandoned me. I am set adrift, unmoored, lost at sea. All because I’m not as pretty as the lovely, terrifying Allison Argent.”

“Argent?” Derek asked sharply. Stiles picked his head up to see two sets of eyes staring at him intently.

“Um, yes? Scott’s girlfriend. I’m not a fan, but who am I to get in the way of high school romance, you know? Plus I’m man enough to acknowledge that probably the only reason I think she smells weird is because I’m jealous.” He let his head flop back down to the floor. The Hale house was actually starting to look like a place where people could venture and not be assaulted by poltergeists. Laura and Derek and started demolishing parts of the burned out shell, digging out the still intact foundation. Fresh lumber sat outside under tarps, waiting to be put up into the new structure. Stiles was very proud of them both.

“How long has she been in town?” Laura asked.

Stiles squinted at the ceiling, thinking. “Uh, a couple months maybe? She got here the first week of school, I think. Scott could probably tell you the exact hour, minute, and second that she walked in if you asked.”

“And she moved here with her whole family?”

“Her mom and dad, yeah. No siblings. Why the twenty questions?”

“Stiles,” Derek said, and something in his voice made Stiles sit up worriedly, “when you said she smells weird, what did you mean?”

“Oh, I mean, she’s human if that’s what you’re asking,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. “It’s just that her parents sell weapons to law enforcement agencies and she always smells like gunpowder. And something else. I’ve never been able to tell what, but it makes me sneeze.”

Derek and Laura exchanged a glance. Stiles did not like that glance. “The Argents are a well-respected family of hunters. That’s why she smells like that,” Laura explained carefully.

Stiles felt his heart stop in his chest. He’d been...this whole semester he’d been in the same school, the same classes, as a hunter and hadn’t even known. His  _ best friend _ was  _ dating _ a hunter. There had to be, like, some sort of tragic comedy aspect to all this but all Stiles could think was the fact that he’d hugged her that one time. He’d held a killer in his arms and joked with her and called her lovely. He was going to be sick.

“Stiles?” Laura’s hand was hovering over his shoulder, unsure if her touch would be welcome. Stiles could only stare back at her with wide, horrified eyes.

“How could I not know?” he whispered. “Scott never shuts up about her. I feel like I know everything there is to know about that girl and I never even suspected that she was -”

“Hey, hey,” Laura hushed him. She crossed the remaining distance between them and pulled him into a hug that felt surprisingly motherly. “You couldn’t have known. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He didn’t cry this time, but he felt hollowed out, like a Halloween pumpkin whose innards had been scooped out to make room for a candle. There was no candle yet, so all he felt was the dark, wounded-edged void. He let Laura hold him until his fingers stopped being so numb and he could feel his teeth again. He must have been hyperventilating. He couldn’t remember. He pulled away from her slowly and wiped his dry face with his sleeve, wishing his life weren’t so goddamn difficult.

“What do I do?” he asked. He hated how small his voice sounded. “I mean, what are the chances that she even knows what I am? But how do I just act like everything’s normal when she comes from a family of murderers? I’m really not great under pressure and I’ll panic and then Scott will ask what’s wrong and then I won’t be able to tell him and I mean, I can lie, I’m pretty good at lying, but I’ll just have to  _ keep _ lying because Allison will still be there and -”

Derek’s warm hand on his bicep finally halted the torrent of words. Stiles was really starting to get used to how tactile werewolves were. They hugged and cuddled and sat with their legs touching. When they wanted to get each other’s attention, they touched the other’s arm gently. They rough housed and punched each other in the shoulder. It was nice.

Stiles took a deep breath. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Derek said with a small smirk. The concern in his eyes gave him away, though, along with his still slightly furrowed eyebrows. “I know it’ll be hard, but you need to act like everything is normal in school tomorrow. We’ll figure out how to handle the Argents.”

The way Derek said the name ‘Argent’ made Stiles think that he knew them by more than just reputation. “Can you just tell me...were they the ones that..?”

Derek’s expression twisted into grief and self-hatred for a single, heart wrenching moment before becoming a blank mask. The absence of expression almost hurt worse than the pain he’d shown before he’d buried it. Derek’s lips seemed to be sewn closed now though, so it was Laura who answered.

“It was Kate Argent who set the fire.”

Stiles felt like he was suddenly on the world’s most fucked up Tilt-a-Whirl. He was dizzy and nauseated. He’d joked earlier about feeling unmoored, but he felt like someone had ripped the floor out from under him and he’d landed in a churning sea of shock and horror. He’d heard Allison mention her aunt Kate. She’d always talked about her with such affection and hero-worship, like Kate was the coolest person to walk the earth. He wondered if Allison knew that her hero had killed eleven people, five of them being children. 

Stiles felt like he was getting better at handling these life-altering revelations. He didn’t even have a panic attack this time. He felt his claws sink into the softened hardwood by his sides.

“Is she still alive?”

“Yes.” Laura’s voice was impressively even.

Stiles took a deep breath. He wasn’t the type to say that revenge wasn’t worth it, or that killing was inherently wrong, but he was also practical. Kate wasn’t in Beacon Hills. He had no idea where she was and even if he went off to find her, there was a chance that he’d be putting himself and his father in danger with no guarantee of success. So he let the breath out slowly and nodded. He’d find a picture of her and memorize it, in case she did ever decide to revisit the scene of the crime.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Derek’s eyebrows were incredulous again. It was becoming a common look on him.

“Yeah,” Stiles said calmly. He picked through the latest incident report, one part of his brain wondering how the hell no one questioned a mountain lion showing up in the video store, while another part of his brain continued cataloguing Derek’s nonplussed expression out of the corner of his eye. “Forewarned is forearmed and all that. I still don’t know how I’m going to act cool around Allison, but knowing the person responsible for my mom’s death?” He shook his head. “I poured over that case file for years. I broke into the evidence room and looked through the stuff from her murder. But I didn’t know anyone else who was, you know, supernatural or whatever. And the name Argent was never anywhere near the murder. Even when I started digging into hunters specifically, without proper contacts, hunter families are ghosts. I probably should have made the connection from all the rumors about silver and the name Argent, but honestly I thought it was just bullshit about silver bullets and stuff.”

Derek’s expression had turned constipated, which Stiles had learned meant that he was experiencing a Bad Emotion that he didn’t want to deal with. Stiles tried to smile at him, but he was sure that his teeth were entirely too pointed at the moment to make the gesture as friendly as he wanted it to be.

“Now, if I ever see her, I’ll kill her.” Derek blinked at him. Even Laura seemed taken aback by how casually bloodthirsty he was. “Until then, I think we have a problem.”

It took a moment for the wolves to recover, but then they were both looking over the file with him, their eyebrows lowered in identical expressions of consternation.

“The rogue attacked a video store. Why?” If possible, Laura’s eyebrows had gotten even more confused.

“I have no idea. But look at the two witnesses.”

“Jackson Whittemore, age seventeen. Lydia Martin, age sixteen.”

“Jackson’s seventeen?” Stiles asked, momentarily distracted. He wondered if he’d had to be held back a grade at some point. Jackson hadn’t been adopted until he was in the third grade, so that might explain it. Stiles shook his head, telling himself to focus. “No, okay, not important. The thing is, can you guys tell if someone’s been recently bitten?”

Their expressions cleared as they finally understood his meaning, then darkened again with the implications. It was honestly a little funny how identical their reactions were. 

“Yeah, of course,” Laura assured him. “You’ll be able to tell too. They’ll smell different, they’ll be angrier, volatile. They’ll seem on edge and panicky.”

Stiles nodded, absorbing the information. Then, “Oh god. I’m gonna have to get close to them to figure this out, aren’t I? I’m totally gonna die. Even if neither one of them is now half wolf, they will totally eat me alive.”

“You’ll be fine,” Derek tried to reassure him. Stiles sagged back to the floor in a heap. Derek patted his shin as Stiles whined.

As Stiles predicted, following Jackson and Lydia around at school the next day turned out to be very harmful to his health. He only made it to just after third period before Jackson slammed him into a row of lockers, snarling in his face in a perfectly human voice.

“What the fuck, Stilinski?”

“H-hey, Jackson, what’s up? How are you feeling? I see your anger issues are well in hand, so no problem there,” he rambled.

Jackson grabbed him by the straps of his backpack and yanked him off the lockers only to slam him back again. Stiles winced. “Stop following us around. It’s pathetic enough that you have that stupid crush on Lydia, but stalking is taking it a step too far.”

“Maybe the crush is on you, not her,” Stiles blurted stupidly.

Jackson reared back for a moment, caught off guard. He recovered a half second later and slammed Stiles into the lockers for a third time. “Either way, stop it. It’s creepy and I  _ will _ fuck you up if you keep doing it.”

“Message received, loud and clear,” Stiles said weakly. Jackson let him go and stepped back. They had managed to gather a small audience, which dispersed as soon as Jackson spun around and stalked off, parting them like the Red Sea. Stiles straightened and brushed himself off.

“Stiles! Are you okay, man?” Scott asked, rushing to his side. “What was that all about?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” Stiles assured him. He hid his shaking hands by slinging an arm exuberantly around Scott’s shoulders. He glanced furtively around for Scott’s dark haired angel of death. He breathed a sigh of relief when she was nowhere in sight. Thankfully, Stiles had managed to avoid direct contact with Allison thus far, given the fact that they only had second period together and Scott usually forgot all about him in favor of walking with her in between classes anyway. 

“Are you sure? That seemed pretty intense.”

“I may have used by particular, silver tongued talents to rile him up, making some implications that were less than comfortable for our closeted jock to handle.”

Scott’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Nevermind,” Stiles said, shaking his head. He steered his friend toward their last class before lunch. “Water under the bridge. Everything is alright, no need to fret your little head. Time for Shakespeare! Once more unto the breach, dear friends!”

Before Scott could ask what he meant, Stiles guided him into the English classroom and deposited him into his usual seat. Stiles sat next to him and pulled out his phone to text the group chat, titled Fox and the Hounds, because reasons, under the desk.

**Stiles [11:13:42]** jackass isn’t a wolf. didn’t smell different. definitely still an asshole though

**Derek [11:14:35]** u ok?

**Stiles [11:14:58]** yeah. just slammed me against some lockers. the usual. all good.

**Laura [11:16:47]** congrats on your control. glad ur ok and jackson wasn’t bitten 👍

Stiles shook his head and shoved his phone back into his bag just as the bell rang at 11:17. He saw Scott do the same to his left, likely having been texting Allison. The hunter.  _ Jesus _ . He was never going to be over that.

Lunch was a torturous affair. Stiles did his best to act normal with Allison, but he couldn’t help but flinch every time she even almost touched him. He knew it was conspicuous and noticeable, but he just couldn’t bear the thought of her hand on his skin. He wanted to ask her if she knew. Did she know what her family was? Did she know the legacy she was inheriting? Did she know about his nightmares, the ones where he woke up sweating and swallowing his screams because the sound of his mother’s dying cries filled his ears? Did she know that it was because of her family that his father lived halfway inside a bottle and could only stand to look at Stiles on a blue moon when the pain of losing Claudia loosened enough on his ribs to make breathing tolerable? Did she know that there were two people who never got to finish out their childhood because their entire family was burned alive by her aunt?

“Stiles?”

“Huh?” he blinked and focused back on his best friend who was looking at him hopefully.

“I was just asking if you wanted to go with us this weekend. We’re going mini-golfing.”

“Oh.” Stiles swallowed thickly. “Sorry, dude. I can’t this weekend. Maybe next time?”

“Oh, okay.” Scott actually looked pretty disappointed, which made Stiles feel bad, but there was no way he could spend the day in the sunshine, playing mini-golf and watching Scott make moon-eyes at Allison Argent. He just couldn’t.

After school, Stiles actually went home rather than going straight to the Hale house. Laura and Derek had spent the entire day working on the reconstruction and would be doing demolition until five, they said. Plus, his dad was supposed to have the afternoon off. Maybe Stiles could make them both dinner and his dad might actually wait until after they were done to pull out the whisky. That would be nice.

He walked in and set his keys down. He didn’t hear his dad moving around, but the cruiser was parked outside, so he knew he was there. Stiles set his backpack under the kitchen table and washed his hands to start on dinner. He was just pulling out the thawed chicken breasts when he heard his dad round the corner to lean in the doorway.

“Hey, pops,” he said casually. He continued working, not looking over. 

“You haven’t been home much lately.” 

Stiles couldn’t tell much from his dad’s tone. It made him nervous. “Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “I’ve been hanging out with friends. You know.”

“Scott?”

It felt like a test. “Uh, not really? I mean, Scott got a new girlfriend so he’s been a little busy lately.”

“I see.”

Stiles kept mixing the glaze for the lemon chicken and tried to keep his shoulders from climbing up to his ears. He knew it wasn’t exactly normal to be hanging out with two college-age people, especially ones that lived in a half-burnt out house in the middle of the woods, but he didn’t know how to explain himself. He already wanted to start defending the Hales to his dad and he hadn’t even told him about them yet.

His dad sighed heavily. “Son,” he said wearily, “I-I need to apologize to you.”

Stiles dropped the fork in his hand. “What?” He finally turned to face his dad. The sheriff’s eyes weren’t as bloodshot as usual and his face was less puffy. He looked like he’d actually slept within the last two days - real sleep. Stiles stared at him.

“I…” his dad looked away, examining a scuff on the kitchen floor. “Melissa came over a few weeks ago. She gave me an earful about my drinking habits, about how that’s no way to grieve and how I’ve not been a real parent to you since...well.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to listen to her at first. I was angry and I yelled at her right back. Then, uh, my supervisors at work told me that I needed to shape up or clear out. So. Last week I went to an AA meeting.”

Stiles was reeling. “Oh.” He had no clue what to say.

“Yeah,” his dad continued. He seemed to be gaining steam. “I’ve decided I’m going to change. I got rid of all the alcohol in the house.” Stiles glanced at the alcohol cabinet and felt a shock when he saw that, yes, all the bottles were gone and the cabinet was bare. “I found a sponsor. It’s...it’s going to be a long road. I know that. But I wanted you to know that...I’m going to start trying. And that I want to start being the father that you deserve.”

Stiles felt tears film his eyes. He gripped the counter with white knuckles. He wanted to fling himself at his father and hug him, let himself be held like he hadn’t been since he was a child, but he held himself still.

“I,” he started, choking, “I’m glad.”

His dad looked just as tearful as he was and he was the one to cross the distance between them, pulling Stiles into a fierce hug. For the first time in years, his dad smelled more like Old Spice and gun oil than the burning bite of alcohol. It was still there, almost like an intrinsic part to his scent, but less overpowering and Stiles breathed him in greedily, seeking the scent of the father he remembered before he was left with a wraith of one.

“Alright,” his dad said eventually. “I’ll let you get back to cooking. Maybe we can...eat together? If that’s alright?”

“Yeah, dad. That’s more than alright.”

His dad smiled at him and Stiles beamed back before turning to finish dinner.


End file.
